Sunday, January 8, 2017

A Taste of WILD ROAD HOME, coming soon, spring release!

Sharkstooth Peak

Prologue

Six
days until my Alaska departure. Thus far I had scribbled my name across divorce
papers, cashed CDs and traded my lavender Toyota truck for a trailer-towing V-8
Ford. Beauty for brawn. Packing boxes choked off my mountain view as I checked Verizon
coverage in remote places. I roused, stepped onto the balcony and gazed at distant
Sharkstooth Peak. Enough already! I hopped around a cardboard box, grabbed my
pack and headed one last time into the Colorado high country.

The
air was eerily warm for early June. Up, up I climbed, through the virginal
green of newly-leafed aspen; across rushing streams of snowmelt and mountain
meadows lush with marsh marigold. Then
just like that, tree line ended and I emerged into barren expanse. Exposed. The
air thinned as exhilaration took hold. Ah yes, there it was again, that
invincible woman-alive feeling, the connection with infinite possibility. I
stared up at the twelve thousand foot saddle and caught my breath. Two-hundred
feet to go – almost there – the trail disappeared under snow. I treaded gingerly
across the sun-softened drifts, ten steps from solid ground when I sank through
to my crotch. Mountains were ripe with metaphor. I struggled free with my
hiking stick and trudged on up the steep slope.

I
set my soggy self below Sharkstooth's craggy point; beheld familiar peaks south
to New Mexico and west to my beloved Sangre de Cristos. I opened my water
bottle, gave the first drink to the mountain and took a swig. Then I stood,
feet apart, arms upraised and faced northwest, to Alaska and the nameless
future before me. Praise be, I
uttered, here I come.

Quests have no itinerary. I didn’t know if my tracks heading
north would be there to follow when I returned south. Perhaps, like this day,
they would melt into the earth, diminutive amidst nature's grandeur. Of this I
was certain: a quest was little about reaching the door and everything about
walking through the doorway. Stripped of the roles and rituals born of habit
and protection, one traveled naked as a newborn. Light and darkness shaped the
shadows, illuminating the way, one holy, hell-bent moment at a time.

10 comments:

Nice to see you are still writing your next book and traveling the west. Your stint at the lighthouse was very interesting and with great photos. Thank you. When I hiked more in the Colorado mountains, we called those soft spots in the snow Elephants Holes, where your leg can fall in very deep. Often occurred near a hidden boulder that had more warmth. Have fun on your travels. I look forward to future updates and those great photos. Hope Teak and Hobo are enjoying life. Take care!